FOUR
LILLY
I getready for the day, but my mind keeps recalling our conversation from last night. I wanted to confess everything. That it had nothing to do with him but with my ingrained fears and makes me question why his being a football player goes against my principles. That I love my dad, but he was never there, and it carved a hole in my heart, shaping me into a woman who craves security. His football career always seemed like his biggest calling, leaving me with the bitter taste of not being enough.
Ian is the one guy I would not recover from. I couldn’t say no then, even though I had never acted that boldly before. My two boyfriends were people I knew, and the relationships developed over months. But with him, one glance, and he pulled me into his intricate web of sinful promises and even more decadent pleasure. I didn’t even tell him about the biggest hurdle—my dad. Telling my father that I am interested in his star quarterback wouldn’t go over well. Ian doesn’t have to know there’s more behind my reservation. It wouldn’t change a thing.
At the shop, the buzz of customers and orders keeps me busy throughout the day.
I love what I do. Seeing the excitement in our customers’ eyes and hearing those pleased sounds when they taste their drinks motivates me to push through.
It’s late when I close the shop, and my best friend loops her elbow around mine as we walk to my car.
“You’ve been awfully quiet today,” she says, gauging my reaction.
I shrug, unwilling to talk about Ian and living in limbo for the last few days.
“We’re going for drinks,” Kat proclaims and drags me toward a cab instead. Saying no to her would lead to nothing but me ending up in the bar anyway. She’s persistent like that, making her a great business partner. We complement each other well.
In the chic bar with bottles lined along a mirrored shelf, round lights hang from the high ceiling, reflecting on the polished floor. It has an industrial touch with steel, wooden accents, and velvety furniture, creating a modern yet edgy atmosphere.
We flop on the soft barstools and order a round of cocktails.
I am on my second drink, playing with the straw, when I finally spill my guts. “He asked me why.”
She takes a sip, gesturing for me to continue.
“I told him.”
“And?” she asks, impatience ringing in her voice.
I sigh, deflating. “And he looked disappointed. But he doesn’t understand…”
Tilting her head, she taps her finger on the bar. “Maybe he would if you were honest.”
“Knowing him, he would persuade me to ignore everything else. He’s just so much. And my dad is his head coach.” I close my eyes for a second, a shiver slithering down my back.
She shrugs, flicking her wrist. “Okay, then move on. You’re set on seeing obstacles, so no point dwelling on the impossible.”Inconspicuously, she jerks her chin toward someone behind me. “There’s a cute blond guy over there looking at you.”
I don’t even glance his way. “Not interested.”
She groans. “Yes, because you’re fixated on Mister Hottie. Like, girl, I understand the catch, but I would so go for it.”
I smile, remembering how she broke up with Theo, her high school sweetheart, thinking they had to go their separate ways because she wanted to remain here, and he got a scholarship in Seattle. One week later, she was like, “Fuck this, we’ll make it work.” They have been steady ever since.
After my third cocktail, warmth settles in my stomach, my mind floating in a sweet buzz. That’s my cue to go home.
When the cab pulls in front of my building, I catch my foot as I climb out, steadying myself at the last moment.
Inside the elevator, the buttons double in front of my eyes as I try to find the one for my floor. The elevator halts on every level until I reach mine, and I stumble right into a hard chest.
His calloused hands wrap around my arms, catching me, and goose bumps bloom over my skin, tingling with desire for more of his touch. That night, Ian made me feel so good. I came twice, even though I usually struggled to orgasm once. His face is the only recurring image I masturbate to.
“I had three cocktails.” I lift my hand, but I have no idea how many fingers I hold up.
Brows furrowed, he takes me in, and I blurt out, “You have the most beautiful eyes ever. I blame those dark blue eyes. They remind me of the sun setting, kissing the deep end of the ocean.” I squint. “Why are there so many of you?”
My knees weaken, and he gathers me in his arms, grunting. “You can’t hold your liquor.”
